


Side Project

by Ronja



Series: The Project [2]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 20:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronja/pseuds/Ronja
Summary: A collection of scenes written for "the Project", but removed for various reasons - usually pacing and for sheer length. Not necessarily compliant anymore with the rest of the story.





	1. Wrestling Tournament

**Author's Note:**

> These deleted scenes will all be posted the way they were when I removed them. Usually that means early draft versions. It also means they don't necessarily match with the actual story in every way, since I might have made all kinds of changes after the scenes were lifted out. Some will be really short, others might be several scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By demand, here is the deleted wrestling tournament scene. It's brief, since it's a first draft, but it's what I've got. And since I know next to nothing about wrestling, there isn't much detail of the matches themselves. My plan was originally to do some research, but once I removed it from the story proper I didn't feel it was where my time was best spent.

I exhale with relief when my eyes spot Madge, sitting by herself on one of the bleachers closer to the court. Since the gym hall is small and school sporting events are one of only a few forms of entertainment available in the district, she is not going to be sitting all alone there for very long. There tends to be more people in attendance than there are seats available. I hurry down the steps and make my way past the people sitting closer to the edge of the bleacher, nodding a greeting to Madge as I take a seat beside her and set my backpack down on the concrete floor.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," says Madge.

I shrug. The matches today aren't mandatory; only once a year do all students have to attend the sporting events that determine the school – and therefore district – champions of various athletic activities, and almost every other time when attendance has been optional I have opted not to attend. Why spend my afternoon in a crowded gymnasium stinking of sweat, watching fellow students compete in sports that hold no meaning in our everyday lives, when I can be out hunting in the woods or bartering at the Hob? But Peeta is competing in the wrestling tournament today and I'm curious to see how he will do. Ever since Ryean graduated Peeta has been the school champion, the same way Ryean took over the title once Scotti finished his education, and I know how much it means to him to hold on to the title this, his final, year. It wasn't too long ago that he was willing to risk pneumonia to attend practice, and it was quite unwillingly that he let me convince him to skip that one week.

I'm not sure I want to give my real reason for attendance to Madge. She wouldn't read anything into it or tease me for it like some others would do but it makes me feel bashful for some reason to admit I'm here to watch Peeta. I oughtn't to feel that way. He was my project partner and we've gotten to know each other over the last few months. Plus, there's Gale. My alibi that holds me above any suspicion that I might be here to ogle some other guy. I know a lot of girls like attending sporting events to see physically fit guys wearing outfits that don't necessarily consist of long pants and long-sleeved shirts, and the wrestling guys are especially popular in that regard. I've never understood the outfits they wear when they engage in this particular sport, but it shows more skin than you'll see in the classroom, so I'll have to give it that.

"We're almost done with school," I tell Madge, feeling I should offer some form of reply to her comment. "There won't be many more chances of entertainment like this. Might as well enjoy it, I figure."

"Harry is competing in football, wrestling  _and_  long jump," replies Madge. "Spreading himself quite thin, I fear. I really don't get why he's going to wrestle, he only joined the team this year, but he's excited."

I nod slowly, fishing a water bottle from my bag and unscrewing its cap.

"Peeta will probably win the wrestling," I comment.

"Probably," she agrees with a nod. Then she smiles slightly. "Our project husbands might be going head-to-head in both wrestling and football today."

I shrug and have a drink of water before screwing the cap back on and putting the bottle down beside me. It feels a little weird having her put it like that. I'm still not sure if there's anything more going on between her and Harry. I see them look at each other fondly sometimes but if they wanted there to be more than friendship one of them ought to have made the first move by now. The project is over and done with, and the opportunity for bringing their relationship to the next level has pretty much passed. If neither has gotten around to asking the other out while they were still working close together, then I fail to see how it would happen now.

We don't say much else to each other as the gymnasium starts to fill up and the bleachers become crowded to fit as many people as possible. The sporting events are planned to last for two and a half hours and I am determined to enjoy every minute of it as much as I can. Normally I just fidget and want to get out of here and do something more worthwhile with my time but there is some element of truth to what I told Madge. This is one of my last chances to attend something like this and that brings a sense of nostalgia. I've not interacted much with most of the kids in this school but nonetheless this is an era of my life that is coming to an end.

The first sports on the program are long jump, track and hurdling. It only takes about twenty minutes since only five boys and three girls are competing, but I find myself just the slightest bit drawn in to the excitement through Madge, who doesn't cheer loudly like some of the other kids but is visibly excited when Harry Storm comes in second place in the long jump. Then follows three fifteen-minute matches of tennis before it's time for the half-hour long football match. The gym is small, so the teams consist only of seven players each and from what I've heard many wanted to play but weren't selected. Peeta comes out to play on the blue team while Harry is on the red. I don't know if Madge knew this beforehand, but she does smile and give me a light nudge with her elbow as to remind me of her previous comment about our project husbands competing against each other.

"I'm surprised this sport is so popular," I comment as the referee speaks to the two teams before the match begins. "It's just kicking a ball back and forth for thirty minutes, hoping to score a goal against some poor fellow guarding a large net." With a scowl I study all the kids who are competing today, those who aren't in the football match sitting together on benches by the court. "In fact, I've never quite gotten the appeal of sports in general. Why so many waste their time on it and why the school encourages it."

"It's the best opportunity available to us to be physically fit and agile in case we are reaped," says Madge solemnly, something in her voice making me turn my head and look at her. She is looking out on the players below us with an almost wistful expression. "We can't train like careers but playing sports at least keeps you in shape."

"I've never thought of it that way," I admit in a low voice.

"You've never had to," she says, stating the fact in a way that's friendly but also a bit stern. "You have your life in the woods. You keep yourself agile and in shape. You don't need to play sports to achieve that." Her soft hand lands on mine in a reassuring gesture, as if she's worried she is hurting my feelings. "The game is about to start."

My eyes trail from her to the two teams who are taking their positions. The referee blows a whistle and the game begins. Our school doesn't have an official football team – there would be no point to it since we have no school to compete against – but I know a lot of the boys like to play on their spare time. Peeta and his friends play. Gale and his friends from the mines sometimes play as well, though not together with the merchants. I wonder why no girls are on any of the two teams. I don't recall seeing a lot of girls play anymore, though when we were younger a lot of the merchant girls liked to play with the boys. Perhaps they grew too shallow or too faux-dignified after puberty to engage in such sports. Or maybe they just see the same futility in the game as I do.

It's not a very exciting match. The blue team wins by scoring a single goal after twenty-five minutes. Once the game is over there is a ten-minute break to clear the court and prepare for the last two events on the program. First there's the wrestling and then the day will round up with a relay. I'm not sure I will stay and watch that part.

When the wrestling begins the competitors come walking out dressed in their wrestling outfits. My eyes immediately find Peeta and despite myself I feel my cheeks burning red. I've seen him in this outfit several times before, but I've never sat this far down in the gym and I've never really noticed just how revealing these outfits are. Tight leotards that look like ridiculous bathing suits reaching halfway down the thighs. The neckline, if you can call it that, goes as far down as to below the sternum and I can hear a few girls around us giggling and commenting on the boys' chests. I've never given any thought to that part of a guy before, not more than any other body part at least, but I can't help but study Peeta's when I hear one girl mention him specifically. From the distance between us I can't tell if his chest is covered in hair like some of the other boys', since his hair is so much fairer than the dark-haired Seam kids, but it looks broad and muscular and kind of pleasant. That same girl comments that she would like to run her hands up and down his pecs and that makes me scowl, forcing me to suppress the urge to turn around and tell her to be quiet.

Suddenly Peeta looks up and his eyes land on me. My blush deepens at him catching me staring at him, but he breaks out into a wide smile and I wonder if he is glad that I'm here. The notion is ridiculous of course. Why on earth would he care? How could it make any difference at all to him if his project partner is here or not? If anything, I would assume he thinks of me as being unsupportive of his wrestling hobby. Still, the thought that he might appreciate my presence is nice, and I return his smile faintly, wondering if I should lift my hand in a small wave or not. Before I can make up my mind the referee blows his whistle and Peeta steps to the side since he's not in the first match.

There are eight guys competing which makes for four initial matches, then semi-finals, then finals. Peeta wins his first match in under a minute, immediately getting a grip on his opponent and pinning him to the mat after only a brief struggle. He's always been very good at this sport, and at the back of my mind I wonder why we spent so much time bickering over whether he ought to attend practice, when he seems to be on a different level than the other guys. I make a comment to Madge about what an uneven match it was, and she tells me that the other boy is younger than Peeta. Prim's age, in fact. She says it as though that ought to excuse his poor performance, but in my mind, I dismiss the notion with a scoff. Peeta put up a better fight than that against his eldest brother during Scotti's senior year, so what's this kid's excuse?

Harry makes it to the semi-final as well, though he has considerable trouble against his opponent. At least it makes for a better show. It seems so futile to me that some of these matches are over so very quickly. Madge is excited at the outcome of the match and I applaud with her in a show of solidarity, wondering to myself how Harry would fare against Peeta. I soon find out, as the two of them face off in the next round and Peeta wins that match too, seemingly without breaking a sweat. I mumble a comment to Madge about feeling bad that her project husband lost and is therefore out but secretly I'm proud of Peeta's success. He is good at this sport and seems to be enjoying himself, though I wonder how much enjoyment one can really get when he has played two matches in under three minutes.

In the last match he faces off against a rather burly merchant boy whom I recall did really well in the school championship last year. This time Peeta has considerably more trouble getting the upper hand and I find myself nervously drumming my foot against the concrete floor and biting my lower lip, silently urging him on as he wrestles the burly kid. In fact, they make it through the first period without anyone seeming to have the clear advantage. The second period starts and this time the other boy seems to get a strong grip on Peeta. I can barely keep myself from groaning. I don't know why but I hate the thought of him losing the match. He is the reigning champion, and this will be his last competition before we graduate – last official one, at any rate. I want to see him win and put his wrestling years behind him with that end note.

Then, just as the other boy seems to be about to pin him down Peeta manages to get out of his grip and quickly turn the match around. They're both down on the mat and I arch my back to see better. To my frustration, the people in front of me are half-standing up to get a better view and I'm forced to lean against Madge to get a clear line of sight. Finally Peeta manages to pin the other boy down and after a few seconds the referee declares him victorious.

The girls behind me, along with several other kids in the gym, cheer loudly and I almost join them. I'm grinning, happy to have seen him win, and I share a look with Madge who looks pleased as well. Peeta and the burly boy shake hands and the referee says something to Peeta which I can't hear. Peeta prepares to leave the court but turns his eyes to me before he does, his smile even wider this time and now I am smiling back at him. He disappears to go change into his regular clothes and I sit back and sigh a little, only now becoming aware that my heartbeat has picked up speed quite considerably over the last few minutes.

"Good for Peeta," says Madge. "I'm happy he got to end on a win. Is he going to continue wrestling after school?"

"I don't know," I say, the question taking me by surprise. "I haven't asked him. I assume not. Who continues with school sports after school?"

"You'd be surprised," she answers but offers no further explanation.

"I've never heard of any competitions held with grown-ups."

"No official ones. Doesn't mean people don't keep with their sports."

Ten minutes later the relay match starts, and the crowd seems to have gone wild, yelling and cheering for their favorite team to win. I, however, find myself bored and ready to leave. I came to see the wrestling matches and they are over. I realize though that leaving is not the best of options right now. The gym is too crowded, and I don't want to annoy anybody by getting in their way on my way out. Besides, I know Prim is here and I feel better waiting and heading home with her. Not that she can't handle herself, she walks home from school without me almost every day, but for that specific reason it would be nice to take the walk together as often as possible while we both still are in school.

When the relay is finally over, and the green team has been declared victorious, Madge and I get our belongings and rise to leave. It takes a while to exit the gym and it's a true relief to step outside into the fresh spring air where the noise level is at least a little bit lower than inside the small confinement of the gym. Madge places her hand on my arm and nods before she takes off. I keep a steady grip on my backpack and find a spot beneath a tree where I can wait for Prim. I saw her sitting on the other side of the gym, meaning she'll probably be a few minutes more before she comes outside.

Suddenly I spot Peeta. He exits from the locker room area, a large trunk flung over his shoulder, laughing together with two of his friends who also partook in the sports today. His hair looks a bit damp from sweat and his skin a little bit flushed from the exercise, but he seems happy and invigorated and full of life. I feel a small smile coming over my face. I'm glad he's in such a great mood. I'm happy that he got to win that final match.

Then his eyes find me again. This time he holds up his hand in a wave.

"Hey Catnip!"

The sound of Gale's voice interrupts me when my hand is halfway raised to wave back. Startled at the sound I turn around and see a familiar figure making his way through the group of students and teachers who are all heading in the opposite direction.

"Gale," I say, my voice echoing my surprise.

"Hey, you," laughs Gale, giving me a kiss as he reaches me. "I cannot believe it. Katniss Everdeen going to a sporting event that isn't mandatory. I heard from Sae that you would be coming here instead of to the Hob today and I just had to see it with my own eyes."

I take my eyes off him and look in Peeta's direction, feeling a bit awkward that I didn't return his wave. I can't find him at first; he's moved further into the crowds. When I do spot him he's not looking in my direction, caught up in conversation with his friends. I turn my eyes back to Gale.

"Yeah…" I mutter, wondering if I should offer him an explanation but deciding he doesn't need one. "What are  _you_  doing here? Your shift isn't over yet, is it?"

"The foreman sent me to pick up supplies at the train station," explains Gale, wrapping his arm around my waist. "The train is running late. It's expected to arrive in twenty minutes so no use heading back to the mines." He smiles warmly, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. It occurs to me that nobody at school, save our siblings, Madge and Peeta, are aware that we are together, but we're certainly not keeping it secret anymore standing together like this. "Want to come to the train station with me and wait?"

"I'm waiting for Prim."

My eyes search the crowd to see if my little sister has emerged yet but there's no sight of her. My eyes fall on Peeta and his friends again and this time Belle is standing with her arms around his neck, chatting happily with him and seemingly congratulating him on his win. With a scowl I turn my eyes away.

"Okay, well, I should head back," says Gale. "I just came to see if you were really here. Did you have fun?"

I shrug a shoulder.

"It was decent."

"I always thought the relays were exciting. Even when I wasn't competing myself."

I nod absentmindedly, my eyes fixated on the doors to the gymnasium. The stream of people exiting is beginning to thin out. Where is Prim?

"I like the wrestling," I say, mostly just to make conversation.

"Really?" He sounds surprised. "Huh. I had no idea. So, who won?"

"Peeta Mellark," I answer, my voice a touch hoarse. Is he going to start complaining now?

"Those baker kids sure love to throw people around on mats," chuckles Gale, apparently not minding. He must be in a really good mood. "I'm betting every kid with wrestling ambitions is real glad the last one is graduating this year. I'm glad you enjoyed the matches. I'm glad you had fun. You should take every opportunity now that school is nearing its end." His finger lands on my chin and turns my face so we can look at each other. "Listen Catnip, I would like to see you tonight. Can I stop by after dinner? Maybe we could go for a walk."

"Sure," I say with a slight nod.

"Okay good." He plants a quick peck to my lips. "I'm off to the train station. See you tonight, babe. Oh, and there's Prim!"

He takes off and I look in the direction he just nodded. I spot Prim walking slowly together with a group of friends, talking and giggling amongst themselves. The strangest feeling comes over me, enforced when I turn to watch Gale leave and catch a brief glimpse of Peeta and his friends – including that girl. I look back at Prim and realize that she probably doesn't want to walk back home from school with me. She is with her friends, some of whom live really close to us, and they probably intend to walk together. I would only be in the way, an older sister not exactly known for her sociable persona, a wet blanket dampening the mood and keeping them from gossiping about boys or whatever it is they want to talk about.

Superfluous. That's how I feel. With a heavy sigh I adjust my backpack and turn to head back home by myself.


	2. Before the Reaping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very brief scene, removed because I couldn't fit it into any of the chapters set in the weeks before the Reaping. But I kind of liked it nonetheless, so here it is. It's Katniss and Gale, discussing the upcoming Reaping, with Peeta being brought up during the discussion.

"Are you nervous?" he asks, giving me a look. "I know I was. Worse than ever, that year."

"It's out of my hands," I say, trying to ignore the painful knot in my stomach that comes whenever I so much as think about the soon-to-be Reaping. I draw a deep breath. "All I can do is hope and pray that it's not me or Prim. And if it is me… I guess I'll have to find a way to deal with that."

"It's not going to be you," says Gale in a tone that suggests he simply won't comprehend that it could be.

"Yeah, but it might," I interject. With one hand I start pulling out grass, with the other I swipe away a persistent fly. "I try not to think about it too much… but if I am selected, then…"

"Jesus, Katniss. Could we not talk about this? I'm sorry I brought it up."

"Well I  _have_  to think about it. Might as well _talk_ about it." I swat the fly away again, my hand moving in a more irritated fashion this time. "All I can seem to think about, is… you know, how I would deal with it. If it were me."

"And do you have an answer?" His voice is pained, and he can't seem to look at me.

"I keep coming back to what Peeta said once."

"Of course," he snorts. "And what did dear old Peeta have to say that was so wise?"

I pause for a moment. I can't tell Gale all of it. He wouldn't understand. The way his mind works is so fundamentally different to Peeta's, or at least that's the way it seems to me. What Peeta said to me one day about wanting to die as himself, if he indeed should have to die, barely made sense to me. I suppose it could mean more to Gale's ears than mine, but if he knew the source of the quote was Peeta he might dismiss it right away. So I just tell him the second part, the part I can better relate to.

"If I should be reaped… and end up in the Hunger Games… I would have to accept the reality of my own mortality."

"That guy is out of his mind!" Gale protests, suddenly very much alive and alert, his grey eyes dark and stormy. "Who the hell would go into the Hunger Games thinking that? That's a sure way of losing. Only people who go in there hell-bent on  _surviving_  stand a chance!"

"Hold on, I didn't say I would give up," I protest, pulling out a large number of grass straws with a forceful tug. "Neither would he. That's not the point. In fact, the point is the exact opposite."

"That makes no sense," Gale scoffs, leaning back so that he's lying down. His hand comes up to cover his eyes from the sun.

"It's like this…" I begin, doing my best to remember Peeta's exact words and meaning and relaying them to my boyfriend as best I can. "One can't go into the Games consumed by fear of death."

"Yeah," he scoffs emphatically. "No shit."

"So what I'd need to do, what Peeta said he would do and which made so much sense to me, is to accept it. Accept the thought of possibly dying. Because when I accept death, then it's no longer my concern. I can focus on other things."

"Such as what?" he says, still clearly not seeing any merit with the idea.

"Anything." I turn my eyes towards him, tilting my head. "Everything. The person who has accepted that death will come doesn't have to worry about it anymore. It becomes a non-issue." I shrug, turning my eyes back to the shining sun that makes me have to squint. "Anyway, it's just a strategy to keep in my back pocket. If the worst is to happen."

He grabs my hand.

"It won't."

"I hope so," I sigh. I don't add out loud that I really hope it won't happen to Peeta, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Katniss mentions that Peeta has told her is inspired by a scene in "The Settlers", by Vilhelm Moberg (and the song "I Have Conformed At Last" from "Kristina", the musical based on Moberg's book series).


End file.
